Choice
by hawkstout
Summary: Slash: Dick/Jason It's Dick and Jason in a room. But he's holding a gun and I remember that… No. It's Nightwing and Red Hood and— "Where's Robin?" And Tim's in danger. Jason always thought Bruce played favorites and intends to prove it.


**Notes:**

One-sided Slash: Jason/Dick

Cross posted to A03 under the same pseud

Translation in Chinese Available: see Archive of Our Own, Author Hawk Stout Story Choice for links

I believe you need to sign in to be able to view the works.

So there's some slight spoilers for Batman: Under the Red Hood (comic), but the fact that you're reading a Jason story I kinda assume you know he's alive and stuff...

Also I'm always hazy on order of events in the DC universe (and apparently am too lazy to look them up) But basically this is a few months after Under the Red Hood and Dick and Jason's first meeting, so even though Dick knew Jason was alive by now actually seeing him is still emotionally shocking.

This is also before Tim's adopted although Dick considers him as a little brother anyway.

* * *

"You know… I get it now."

Jason's here and he's alive and I want to pull my little brother into a hug because he had been dead.

An abandoned apartment building, condemned. It's rigged with electricity so he must have bunked down here for a while. He's standing right in front of me.

It's Dick and Jason in a room.

But he's holding a gun and I remember that…

No. It's Nightwing and Red Hood and—

"Where's Robin?"

And Tim's in danger.

Red Hood chuckled, "Oh Dick, I don't even know how you can say that name. It was stolen from you."

"Jason—"

"Don't." The gun's aimed straight at my head.

I raised my hands. One of the first things Bruce taught me was to respect the presence of a gun. Jason-Red Hood was good when he had left, not enough to beat me good, but he had been gone for a long time and he carried himself differently. He knew how to hold a gun. He didn't know how to do that when he had…left? Died?

Red Hood and his guns were an unknown in action, but I had seen the aftermath. He knew what he was doing.  
"What happened Jason?" I ask softly and he smiles and maybe there's some fondness or nostalgia. The gun doesn't lower.  
"You must have hated me."  
"What? No, Jason—"

"He replaced you and you weren't even dead."

"Jason," He has wounded eyes and he's looking right through me, "Jason I never hated you."

He's back with me again and smirking, "You always were a good boy Dickie." He moves closer and I don't know if that's good or bad. The closer he is the more chance I have to disarm him, but I can't get a read on him. I don't want to rely on what I used to know about Jason, because this Jason moves differently.

Pretty soon he's almost right up against me and I'm right up against the wall. His gun is pressed against my jaw.

"You always see the best in people right?" He whispers in my ear, "Even me?"

"Jason, how are you here?" You were dead a voice in my head whispers quietly.

I feel his smile on my cheek.

"My secret," He pulls back a bit looking into my eyes, "You happy to see me?"

"Of course!" And once again I'm stopping myself from embracing him, "Jason you were dead."

"And now I'm alive. Heh, only you can smile so pretty with a gun pointed to your head."

He suddenly moves in. I can feel the gun on my temple, just as I can feel his free arm around me and his lips against mine.

It's such a shock I don't move, don't react.

He pulls away, "Life is sweet," he says an inch away from my lips.  
I feel chilled. Jason's just a boy. In my head he's still just a smug little kid, but he's not little anymore.

"Where's Tim?" I ask, "Jason, where's Tim?"

I feel the gun pushing harder.

"Let's not talk about him right now."

He caresses my face with the gun as if in apology.

"Then what should we talk about Jason?"

"You're always pushing at me aren't you?" Jason grumbled as if we're fighting over a botched training exercise and not a boy's life, "I wanted to talk about us."

"Us?"

"Sure, we never got a chance to talk running across that rooftop."  
His free hand touches my previously injured leg, "And then Chemo happened."

So many people had died that day.

"I wanted to say sorry."

I looked up.

"I didn't know what it felt like. To just be tossed aside by him. To be replaced, but I never really thought about it because he loved you so much. Whenever we were together the comparison was always there. I've always wondered if it had been you, would he have killed him."

"He wouldn't have." I know he wouldn't have.

"He loves you."

"That's why he never would," And I don't know why he doesn't understand. He should understand, "He knows I'd never forgive him if he killed someone in my name. If he went against everything he believes in, everything he taught me. To become something he isn't because of me, I don't think I could stand it."

He moves in closer again, "Always such a good little soldier. Is that why he didn't kill him for me? Is that what you're saying? He didn't do it because he loved me and wanted to honour my memory? Bullshit Dick. When a parent loses a child all morality falls away. And let me tell you something, I wanted to be avenged, but I wasn't worth the dirty hands. I was never enough for him."

"You were. He loved you, he still does."

"Did I become sainted when I died? Did he suddenly forget the sneaking out and smoking and 'excessive use of force' and don't think I don't remember his doubt. It was there over my head like a dark cloud. I bet he still wonders if I pushed that rapist off the ledge. He loved me after I died more than he did while I was alive and it still wasn't enough to avenge me."

"I love you," I say and suddenly his lips are on mine again and I try to struggle a bit this time because that was not what I meant. He relents sighing softly.

"As a brother," I add and his lips quirk at that.

"Did you cry at my funeral Dickie?"

I'm about to lie, but he can see it from my expression. His hands tighten on me.

"I wasn't there," I admit, "I didn't know, I was off-world for six months and—"

"He didn't tell you," Jason growled, "Didn't even bother. That's the act of a loving parent isn't it Dick? I can't even have my elder brother mourn for me at my own damn funeral. Hah. Should have guessed. Did you cry when you found out?"

"Yes Jason, I did."

He seems pleased by this and I'm remembering it all over again. The Teen Titans, checking to see if it was true, going to his grave with Starfire.

"I was devastated."

I give into temptation this time and slowly, carefully wrap my arms around him. He stiffens at first trying to figure out if it's a trick and if I'm about to attack, but eventually relaxes. He puts away the gun now and he hugs me back, one hands snaking up and running through my hair. He's shaking a little.

"What happened to you?" I whisper and his arms suddenly tighten around me like he wants to protect me, or that maybe I could protect him.

"Bad things happened to me Dickie."

"You grew up, you were alive."

"I died Dick, that's not a lie, I died and when I came back I couldn't get back to you, I'm sorry."

I hold him for a little longer, but I don't forget about Tim.

"I've changed Dick, I see things clearly now."

"What do you see Jason?"

"That Bruce is wrong," He gently pulls away. He puts a hand on my cheek. I allow it. I can get away now, but it's obvious he needs to talk and I need to listen.

"About what?" I ask, but I know what he's going to say.

"Killing is the only way to stop them."

"No, Jason—"

He grabs my other cheek and stares at me.

"Listen," He said firmly.

"Okay. I'm listening."

He peels off my mask and then, after a moment's hesitation, pulls off his own as well.

"Bruce wants to fight this war without dirtying his hands. He wants to avoid becoming what he's fighting," He runs his thumb across my cheek, "But the only way to save Gotham and stop the endless cycle is to just kill them all. The dead don't come back." And then he laughs pulling away a little, giving me a bit of space, "Okay, the dead usually don't come back."

"Jason, it's not—"

"It's okay Dick," He smiles his little boy smile, "I've heard you've had a few close calls, but a person like you," He takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers, "You shouldn't have bloodied hands."

I remember Blockbuster and I remember when I thought the Joker killed Tim, thought that he had taken a second little brother from me and this time I was around to do something about it. I pull my hand away.

"Maybe Batman shouldn't either," He admits, "But Bruce Wayne is a different story," His face darkens, "He should have avenged me. He should understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. He's so obsessed with his damned mission, but he won't take it to the logical last step."

"I learned a long time ago Jason…" I hesitate a bit because saying it out loud is hard, "Batman isn't the alter-ego. Batman isn't the disguise, Bruce Wayne is."

He grips my hands tightly.

"We were raised by Batman, not Bruce Wayne and Batman can never kill."

He shoves hard and I barrel backwards into the wall.

"It doesn't matter anymore." He says. He slams my wrists against the peeling wallpaper, "I'm done trying to please Bruce or Batman or whatever you want to call him." He leans in and whispers, "And I'm done waiting for his love and approval. I'll be another villain he has to catch, it doesn't matter. I'm going to finish his goddamn mission for him because that's all he actually cares about."

"What do you want from me Jason? Approval? You know you won't get it from me."

"I didn't expect to. You shouldn't have bloody hands," He repeated slowing down, calming a bit. He looked over at one of my gloved hands,

"And I understand why you can't accept it." He came in and he was going to kiss me again.

"Stop it," I say sharply.

"Make me," He grinned. He used his bulk to shove me further against the wall again forcing his lips against mine.

I trip him and we fall. He's still clinging on to me and now he's on top of me.

"Jason!" I'm shouting still trying to push him off me.

"Shh."

He catches my wrists again and hold them tightly, "Don't you wanna know where the Replacement is?"

I instantly go limp. His face is too close and his smile's too wide at my submission.

"There's a pretty bird," He breathes kissing me playfully on the nose.

"Where's Tim Jason? What have you done with him?"

His grip tightened in warning.

"Don't talk about him. If you're good," He nuzzled my neck, "We'll talk after."

I shiver.

"You're my little brother," I try.

"Not how it counts," he says seductively biting my ear gently and I jerked a little. Too close, he was too close and this wasn't…

He pulled up and stared at me for a long time.

"Jason?" I asked hesitantly.

"You're way too pretty," He frowned, "You're lucky the crooks don't aim for your face, but maybe killing you isn't what they're always after."

He ran gentle fingers down the length of my ribs. It tickled a bit but I tried to not move.

"I always wondered, did they ever touch you?" He's positioned himself so that he's sitting astride me and the threat to Tim had me pinned like a butterfly. He bent to trail kisses down my chest and I wished my uniform was thicker.

"Did they ever play with you while they waited for Batman to show up? I know Two-Face was fond of you, and the Joker. He wouldn't shut up about you while he beat me to death with that crowbar, laughing all the while."

I winced.

"Keep your eyes open," He commanded. I looked back into poison green eyes, "Good," one hand gripped my neck, "Now tell me, anyone ever rape you Dickie?"

He squeezed my throat a little at my hesitation, "…it wasn't…when I was a kid there was a few inappropriate touches that I didn't really understand, but that was to freak me out, they never—"

"And as an adult?" His other hand gently touches my face even as the hand on my neck tightens.

"It wasn't rape—I wasn't raped," I corrected.

His hand loosens and I can see the surprise. His hold around my neck tightens again with more power behind it.

"But you said no," he pushed. And before now it was just a cruel game, a threat for what he might do to me, but he must have seen the shadows in my eyes. Jason had always been an angry kid, but the pure rage shook me to the core.

"Who was it?" He demanded and I knew with certainty that if I told him he would hunt down Tarantula and kill her.

I started choking instead.

"Who was it!" he shouted. I let my mind move to a meditation exercise Bruce had taught me. I'm not going to tell him, my need for air is material, that sort of jazz. Yeah I've never been very good at it compared to Bruce, but it was enough. There were spots in my vision and I was going to faint.

He suddenly let go and I gasped for breath inhaling deeply. Air, air was pretty marvellous. Oxygen, let's never fight again.

I started to struggle, to fight. I was tired of this, tired of playing his game. I flipped him off me and stood about to attack.

"Timothy Drake."

I stopped and gave a shout of frustration… then slumped. I couldn't fight, not while Tim was in danger.

"That's right, you need to do what I say right now," He hissed pulling himself up and walking toward me. He stood a few feet away, "Just his name and you'll fall into line."

I glared at him angrily. It was too much. Too many painful wounds were being reopened. He'll pull me apart if he continues like this.

Unexpectedly, I was swept into a hug. I almost struggled, but Tim's name is still ringing in my ears.

"I'm sorry."

He was crazy, he was completely crazy.

"I'm sorry for not being there to protect you."

I felt guilt shoot through me. I was going to lose my head from all the emotional whiplash.

"It was supposed to be the other way around," I said. I didn't hug him this time. My past with Jason was so long and complicated and the boy that I remembered and loved and failed resembled this man, and it was the small similarities that were the most painful.

"I was supposed to protect you," I whisper.

He chuckled in amusement and pulled out of the hug, "That wasn't your job. That was Batman's."

And I abruptly realized everything, _everything_ was about Bruce. This moment, Tim's capture. He was doing this because it would hurt Bruce.

"Like it's his job to look after Tim?" I asked. He looked pleased that I figured it out. In retrospect it shouldn't have taken me this long, but Jason was alive and I was just starting to understand what that meant.

"And his job to look after you," He added stroking my arm. I jerked away.

"Any mistake I make is my own and any trap I fall into I'm expected to get out of it myself. I'm an adult."

"But you can't get out of this one," He said in determination, "Because when there are no civilians your first priority is Robin's safety. Did that become an official rule after I died? Either way I know it still holds true. You're powerless right now Dick, so get on your knees."

We glared at each other for a moment before I sank to my knees resignedly. He was right. He had won.

"I always wished I had your natural grace. You even make defeat look good." He moved around me, inspecting me and then came up behind pulling one arm back. I felt the click of handcuffs, one hand then the other. He moved in front of me again and carefully disabled my utility belt. He threw it to the side. He bent over and gently grasped my chin tilting my head up.

"Bruce is going to make a choice."

I narrowed my eyes, "He'll choose Tim."

"You really don't realize how much he loves you do you? You're his favorite. You're his Golden Boy. You're the one that he didn't screw up. Still able to smile a bright smile despite all the shit you've gone through."

"Maybe," I answered, "But he still won't pick me."

"You're wrong!" He yelled backhanding me. I let myself fall. He grabbed me pulling me up to my knees again. I was dizzy.

"He won't pick me," I repeated, "Even if what you say is true, even if he did love me the most he still won't choose me over Tim."

"Why?" He roared. He was crouching down gripping me by the shoulders.

"Because Robin comes first," I said, "And he and I have a promise. Never again. We will never let it happen again Jason. He knows I wouldn't forgive him if he chose otherwise."

He started kicking me in the ribs and I curled in on myself. I might have blacked out because suddenly I was cradled in his arms and he was rocking me, muttering something.

"- an idiot, why do you always have to push me like this? Why can't you just show your neck and accept things, I don't want to hurt you, you moron, you're still my big brother despite everything and I-"

"Jason…" I wanted to reach out, but my hands were still cuffed behind my back.

"His moral code shouldn't dictate this," he said quickly, furiously, "Love shouldn't be dictated by a code made in the dark when he was alone. The right choice is killing the Joker because he took me away from him. The right choice is choosing you because you're his son and Drake's just the hired help he only met a few years ago."

"Tim's my little brother adoption, blood or not. And he's your little brother too," I whisper. I'm probably not thinking straight anymore.

"He is not my brother!" He shouted still clinging to me, "And he's not yours either. It's you and me, just you and me and the one Bruce likes best is you. Even if he picks the replacement, even if he dooms you he should still come after me, he should still strangle the life out of me because I took you away from him."

He was staring into my eyes and his anger had been replaced by desperation. He just wanted to understand. He was only a teenager when he died and was never able to learn the lessons that Bruce and I had. He couldn't understand why Bruce would never kill. He couldn't understand that he was loved and greatly missed. He never realized Bruce's love isn't a competition, that there was no favorite son.

"He never would." I said simply, "And you wouldn't either."

"What?"

"You'd never kill me or Tim," I said "You're a good person Jason."

"I've already killed, you're wrong; I'm not a good person."

"You kill rapists, murderers and pimps. You don't kill sixteen year old boys."

It looked like I had broken something and suddenly he was sobbing into my neck. I sighed. I wondered if he had forgotten. Even if he's killing people he's still working under the framework that Bruce had set. You don't harm innocent people. Everything you do is a counter to villainy; everything you do should be a protective measure.

Jason would never harm an innocent person. I had almost forgotten that.  
He didn't have a death wish either. All he wanted was to be with his family, but he won't allow himself that solace, not with all his rage, not when he has such a drive to kill and get revenge. He won't come back to us easily, but Jason never made it easy to love him.

I still do though, my little brother.

He shuddered against me and I murmured comforting things and knew he didn't believe any of them even though I meant them all.

He finally stilled and he shifted me so I was sitting against his chest. He still didn't undo the cuffs.

"I feel like such a girl." He put his chin on my shoulder and I had the feeling he was pouting.

"You were certainly crying like one," I quipped—not any of the ones I know, but hey, similes… and concussions.

"It's your fault," He groused, "You and your stupid ability to get me to have chick-flick moments."

"I have the power to make Superman giggle, what makes you think you're so tough?"

"I was raised by Batman, emotional repression is its own superpower."

"You kind of suck at it."

"Well I guess you're my kryptonite."

He held me, arms wrapped around my chest. He was big, bigger than me. How old was he? Eighteen. It must be eighteen. He's still a just a kid… but he's not. His childhood got taken away a long time ago.

"So are you going to go through with it?"

"Hm?"

"Your crazy scheme that I've poked a million holes into with the power of love and brotherhood?"

"Oh. No, I don't think so, but I'd like to enjoy this moment if you don't mind."

"Hard to with handcuffs."

"You'd run away."

"I wouldn't Jason."

"…I like bondage?"

"Still your brother."

"Yeah…killjoy."

I felt the pistol hit hard and I thought _you little shit._

* * *

"Nightwing… Dick!"

Ugh.

When I woke up I was still in handcuffs lying on the floor. It was dark, the electricity had gone out.

"Dick, please be alive!"

"I'm alive," I said, "Tim?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God. Did he hurt you?"

I started trying to slip the cuffs.

"Just roughed me up a bit. Concussion, the usual."

Aha, got it. I threw the cuffs off and went over to Tim. He was tied with knots that would make a dominatrix scratch her head.

"He say anything to you?" This wasn't going to work. I need a knife to cut this.

"The usual villain speech about 'showing Batman.' I wasn't really listening, paying more attention to the fist that kept connecting with my face."

I looked around. Moonlight reflected off the yellow of one of our utility belts. I grabbed it and went to work releasing Tim.

"You'd better hurry; he'll be coming back soon."

He won't be. He left our belts. He was trained by Bruce. He would have secured us better if this was a continuation of his game.

"Yeah," I agreed instead. Tim's probably not thinking clearly otherwise he would have picked up on it himself. It didn't matter. I'd explain later. I hacked off the ropes, used my flashlight to retrieve Tim's belt and we staggered out of the building.

A few seconds later it blew up.

My ears rung, my vision was blurred, but it didn't matter because I was underneath the rubble so everything was pretty dark anyway.

…

"Nightwing! Robin! Nightwing! Respond! Respond now!"

Damn the idiot anyway. Got exactly what he wanted.

"Nightwing!"

Screwing with Bruce the entire time… wonder if he made him choose.

"Nightwing!"

Screwing with me too probably.

Tim was underneath me. I grabbed him out of instinct before the explosion. I could feel the quick inhale and exhale of his lungs. It was steady, we were going to be okay.

Bruce was here and he would upturn every single brick until he found us so I wasn't worried anymore. I could finally relax. Bruce would save us.

He'd always save us.

* * *

I woke up in the cave with Alfred mopping my brow and a relieved Tim at the head of my bed. He had a broken arm and his face was badly bruised, a black eye. I was pretty sure that was courtesy of Jason and not the explosion. My back was tingling unpleasantly, drugs only holding my pain at bay. Bruce was in the background, in his shadows. He explained with an even voice that Jason had led him on a wild goose chase all over Gotham. When he blew up the building it was a remote trigger. From Tim's description it was obvious he had wanted us to escape. He pressed the button when we had cleared the lethal shockwave zone. Bruce hadn't known that. He thought we were dead.

I nodded, that's what I had thought. I didn't ask him what happened during their face-off beyond if there were any civilian casualties. There weren't.

"He would never have killed us," I say because I can't quite let things go.

Bruce had his usual mask firmly in place.

"I was confident of that as well until the building exploded. Just because you were out of the blast zone doesn't mean the debris couldn't have killed you. Jason's dangerous. You need to watch yourself; you should have never been captured in the first place. You should have been better."

As always it ends with a fight between us and I go back home to lick my wounds. We'd avoid each other for a couple months, and when we saw each other again we wouldn't talk about it.

I got back to my apartment sore, angry and exhausted; I almost missed the note taped to the door.

Landlord? No, rent's not due yet.

I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open.

My hand shook as I stared at it, not really comprehending what it meant. I must have fallen because suddenly the door knob was above me and I was leaning against the wall.

It was a lie.

_He chose you._

It had to be a lie.

* * *

**Notes:**

Don't read this author's notes if you just want to let that ring and not have anything over explained.

.  
.

Seriously this is just me blathering on about what I think is going on in my own fanfiction.

.

Okay. So the reason that Dick is upset and not all like "Yay! Bruce loves me!" is that Dick's own set of beliefs and foundation hinges on the fact that Batman is morally infallible. Batman doesn't let emotions overrule him, he makes the logical 'right' choice. This, Dick believes, is what stops Batman from killing the Joker. It's not that Bruce doesn't have emotions, it's that Bruce doesn't (or shouldn't) let them control him otherwise he would never be able to do anything and his vengeance would consume him.

This isn't to say Dick takes the same approach. Unlike Bruce he doesn't hold back emotionally, but his foundations start to crumble when his teacher proves to be not as rock solid as he thought.

He's also upset because Bruce and he made a promise to protect Tim if the choice had to be made (kind of got a sense of this in _Gotham Knights_).

Lastly he's upset because if Bruce can bring himself to choose between Dick and Tim why couldn't he avenge Jason?

Or something like that...

Jason of course could be bullshitting Dick, but Dick will never know because Batman would never admit it to him and Jason would always make him wonder.

Jason you're so crafty.

Oh and most if not all of what Jason was doing/saying wasn't a put on (the truth can be more emotionally scarring than a lie after all), although he might have crazied it up a bit.

So I hope you enjoyed. It started out as smut and then suddenly became like... deep and psychological... or something.

I don't know I can never tell if I get it right or not.


End file.
